


Mine Is a Different Story

by Cyndakrm



Category: Don’t copy to another site - Fandom, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, FML, M/M, Multi, Other, good kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 14:57:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18143702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyndakrm/pseuds/Cyndakrm
Summary: The elf’s hair was loose, unplanned strands falling around his face, the shimmering white of it was even brighter in the contrast of his dark ash skin. There was dirt on the bridge of his nose and above his brow and a few cuts and scrapes littered every part of his delicate face. A bruise was starting to form on the left side of his jaw and the skin had split on the right of his bottom lip. He was covered head to toe in blood - both his and his foes - and behind the coppery scent was the sweat that brought a small sheen to his complexion. His bright large eyes fluttered with what looked like surprise and Nathaniel had never really noticed how long his lashes were until now.And then he smiled.It was small, tired, but so very warm and sweet. His eyes had softened around the edges and looked even more dazzling with amusement and affection there to fill them “You’re wounds come first, Nathaniel.”And some part of him was absolutely embarrassed that he wanted to hear his name on those lips again.





	1. Love I know you're doing fine,

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is going to be VERY rambly. It's more of a character analysis than a proper story tbh, I mean yeah there's lots of feelings and shit but it's also just 90% Nathaniel's observations. Sorry in advance!
> 
> Fic and Pairing is based off the song Judging Books by Their Covers by Keaton Henson.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Link in the text directs you to an image for that scene!!!

The night was late and the wind carried the barest hint of the sea as it washed in from the coastline to the north.

It tossed their steady fire two and fro, making the flames dance with delight as it greedily gobbled up its gusty companion. The camp was warm and mostly dry this time, it was a small blessing that none of them took for granted here in Ferelden. Nathaniel watched on from his rock as Anders continued to cheerily explain the uses of spice in a meal to Justice and the undead knight listened attentively. It was just the three of them and their Commander in this adventure. After the grueling battle at the Keep, the rest of the men were needed there. Besides, this mission called for small numbers. That was fine with him, Nate enjoyed the moment of reprieve, the silence of a small camp.

Amral often looked dissatisfied whenever they set up camp.

As time had gone on and Nathaniel had grown more accustomed to being in the Warden-Commander's service, he often thought this drop in the elf's mood had something to do with his days during the Blight. There were many times that Nathaniel felt Amralime ached for his old comrades, his brothers and sisters in war. His eyes would roam over the camp as though soly witness to a spectacle of ghosts, and when the camp didn't match to his memories it would dissatisfy him.

Nate could see it in the way Amralime would turn to Justice, but looked too high to meet his face, as if he expected someone taller. He saw it in how he spoke with Anders, always surprised by his responses as if the mage should have been little more naive and a little more moral in their topics. He would see how the smile wouldn't quite reach his eyes when Velenna's calmness quickly turned to a short temper or vise versa, Amral seemed to dislike the two extremes of her personality. It was as though he'd prefer they belonged to two seperate people. A calmer woman of an older age, and a biting young lady. The trend continued in his responses to Segrid, pleasant but half attentive, like he wasn't sure how to place her in his mind and that the only person relatable was so visually different that it didn't translate. His suspicions were all further proven by the ease and good nature the battle mage displayed when in the company of _Oghren_ , of all people, his only current companion from his former days.

The Commander did a rather good job at suppressing these flaws to his interactions, however. If Nathaniel had learnt anything from his time with the man, it was that Amralime valued his men down to the individual. As one of his earliest recruits, Nate has able to watch on as their leader touched the hearts of every companion that he had eventually pulled under his care. The rogue had listened in as Anders lamented Mr. Wiggens from the Circle, only to have the small elf bring him a bright eyed orange tabby the following week. He watched on as Velenna's walls slowly fell away with each piece of elven history the Commander managed to scrounge up for her, with each little green stone he placed in her hands and that one blank journal he gifted her last.

When Justice arrived, Nathaniel couldn't deny that he scarcely resisted the urge to put an arrow through his hand. The spirit had grasped at Amral's chin to get a better look at his glowing eyes and he was almost positive he saw Anders hand twitch for his staff in the same moment as the archer had for his bow. Ever since Am had gotten the... Man on their side, the little elf has been the spirit's constant support in dealing with the matters of, well, _living_ and coming to terms with Kristoff's past. As such, Justice has grown quite the interest and attachment in their great leader. Apparently unconvinced that Amralime is just some normal mortal and always looking for some way to prove this point. Even if only to himself. Nathaniel imagined it wasn't only him that wished it didn't involve so much _touching_.

Heedless to say, these interactions between the Commander and his men were not uncommon. Each and every man under Amral's order was almost devout with loyalty by now, if not actually so. Hell, even Veral had taken an arrow to the wrist without even hesitating and likely wouldn't have even flinched if it was to the neck, and though most may simply call that natural duty to your superiors, the senichal's desire to protect his arl had clearly been much more than that. Nathaniel suspected that the old idiot even found the tongue lashing he'd received from his Commander after the fact was an honor, if that worn old smile stuck to his face had been any indicator. Though... Those memories were a tinge bitter now, weren't they?

Poor old Veral.

If he _had_ needed any confirmation that Amralime cared for all of his men, that last battle would have given it to him. Nathaniel wanted to smack the blasted dolt right on his ass for standing out on the front lines all on his lonesome, he wanted say to him _'Amaranthine is lost for your sake, now get up!'_ and make that old fool live another day. A useless desire, he knows, but Nathaniel still wishes.

He supposed it wouldn't have been very like Veral to be anywhere else in the battle, though. By the look on Amralime's face when he had finally found a chance to look on his senichal's body again - after the fighting had finally been done - the elf had thought very much the same thing. It wasn't often the glimmer of regret ever found it's ways into the Commander's eyes, but with his powers of premonition strained, one would guess it was to be expected at some point now.

As Anders continued to probe Justice with questions over the fire of their little camp, Nathaniel's attention was easily drawn away to the small elf just at the edge of the light's touch. Though the darkness of his skin melded him into the darkness, Am slim features were still visible to the rogue. His mouth was pulled down into the slightest frown and his arms were crossed over his chest, his body was too stiff for it to simply be in search of warmth. No, he was simply withdrawn, displeased. It was a common enough thing to see when the elf was faced with the camp but, upon closer inspection, Nate noticed something different this time.

There was no direction to those big bright eyes, no specific area or detail he was unhappy with. His eyes didn't trail along the path of some remembered ghose, it didn't even look like he was paying attention to the camp itself at all. His eyes looked far off, as they would when he was trying to sense what was up ahead. It was an ability the rogue had steadily become quite familiar with along their travels. Nathaniel use to find the skill quite unnerving, he could still recall when he'd first witnessed it.

 

* * *

 

 

They were about to turn down a corridor in the lower levels of the Keep when the Commander suddenly stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes.

Nathaniel had almost walked straight into his back and was only saved from doing so by Anders quick grip on his arm.

"Yeah, I almost did that a few times too." Had been the cheery reply to the Howe's confused glance.

"What is he doing?" If it came out agitated, it was because the last thing Nate needed was his new boss to be touched in the head.

"Don't worry your balled little chins about it." Came Oghren's rough voice from beside them, causing them both to turn to the stinking dwarf. He simply flashed them an unflattering grin and continued "The Commander's sensing ahead, into the future. He's making sure we all get out of this with our balls still attached, see."

"Oghren, that is the most unflattering explanation I've _ever_ heard to saving your life." Amralime was looking back at them now, his eyes seeming the slightest bit brighter. He smiled at Nathaniel in an apologetic manner, and it was easy to see that this would be far from the first time Am had to explain himself in this situation "It's premonition. I can get a general sense for future events and make safer decisions for us as we move forward - so to speak. It was much stronger during the Blight but, I'm sad to say it's withered a bit since I killed the Archdemon."

"And yet you still stub your toes."

The mage simply rolled his eyes and shook his head as Oghren began to laugh at him. He turned started to once again move forward, almost bumping into the doorframe as he did so. This only furthered the dwarfs laughter and Nathaniel gave Anders an apprehensive look as the elf simply ignored his misstep and continued forward. The apostate merely shrugged and followed after their little elf, seeming to accept the absolute ludicrousy of the situation. Reluctantly, Nathaniel did the same.

Maker help them if the Commander trips over his own robes mid-battle and gets them all killed.

 

* * *

 

 

In truth, Nathaniel soon came to realize that Amralime stubbed, bumped, and tripped into so many things all the time because he was an absolute _airhead_ outside of battle or politics.

It was like his mind just... Went to sleep or _wandered away_ whenever he wasn’t in danger, and when it did his feet simply had a mind of their own.

During a fight was a completely different story. Well, mostly. In the beginning, it was easy to tell that the battle mage was used to his men being able to take on hordes of enemies without much support, which Nathaniel _might_ have been willing to take as a complement if it didn’t end up with him surrounded by enemies and expected to just… Manage it. In a particularly harsh battle, Amralime had seemed almost entirely unphased when Oghren hit the ground and didn't get back up, like he was used to the idiot running into the thick of it and getting knocked out, but when he noticed both Nathaniel and Anders shortly follow suit, the look of panic on his face was _almost_ priceless. Nate imagined it would have been far more funny if he hadn’t been trying to hold close the gaping wound on his inner thigh and waiting for his head to be cleaved in two.

Admittedly, the sight that soon followed that catastrophe was one the rogue didn’t think he would ever forget.

 

* * *

 

 

Once the Commander had understood the gravity of his error, he immediately changed his tactics and sent out a stun on all the surrounding enemies. It was enough time for him to make a stone fist and hurtle it at Oghren’s heavily armoured body, sending it flying into Anders and - crudely but successfully - pushing the two out of harm’s way. He then ran _away_ from Nathaniel; Who, for a terrifying moment, thought the elf was about to just go off and abandon all of them.

Instead, Am got himself to the furthest corner of the enemy forces and sent out a chain of electricity, just as they were starting to come back around. The beasts shrieked in pain and anger and moved in on him from all angles, leaving Nathaniel for dead on the ground and not even noticing the other two Wardens passed out off to the side of the battle. It felt like forever as Nate watched on in horror, completely helpless, as the Commander took blows head on from multiple foes, all while he viciously slaughtered them around him with his staff and sword. Nathaniel suspected that it was only a combination of his healing magic, lyrium potions, and stun spells that saved Amral's life on that day and when the last enemy fell, he was barely supporting himself on his staff and shaking knees. The elf's clothes were covered with gaps where weapons had reached his flesh and blood trickled down his legs in steady streams and the archer was absolutely convinced that the man was simply dead on his feet.

  
After a moment, where the world seemed far too quiet and Nathaniel was about ready to call out to the other man, those bright eyes seemed to re-clear, as if he was just becoming aware that the fighting had ended. He looked up, then around, his eyes scanned over Anders and Oghren. Once he was satisfied with what he saw, he turned his gaze next to Nathaniel. The wound on the rogue's leg was still bleeding at a sluggish pace, he could feel the slow slick of warm fluid moving past his fingertips. It was making him light headed, but he was sure he would survive with some proper bandaging.

The Commander seemed to be thinking the same thing because his mouth went into a stubborn line and he visibly gathered up the strength he’d need to get over to his bowless archer. Stumbling across the bloodied floor, mostly thanks to the support of his staff, Amralime just barely managed his goal as he collapsed down to his knees right before his injured comrade. The pained grunt he released on impact had a worrisome hissing wheeze to it, in Nate's opinion, and close up, the elf looked even worse off than before. His skin almost proper black where the bruises were trying to steadily form, the slashes in his side and arm looking to need immediate care. The mage ignored all of it, however. Instead of acknowledging his own pains, he opened up his pack and pulled out a very strong lyrium potion and some bandages.

Drinking the contents from the bottle, Am visibly cringed and shivered before tossing the empty thing aside, moving his attention to the wound under Nathaniel’s hand. “Let me see.”

Admittedly, Nate didn’t expect to be so startled when he felt the Commanders small fingers nudge their way under his. The action was filled with such gentleness, with care and consideration for any pain this could potentially cause him that he couldn't help but find himself surprised. There was barely any pain to his wound though, the nerves having long since given out with shock and damage. Thus, his mind supplied, the hitch in his breath was _entirely_ uncalled for as a soft palm brushed over the torn flesh of his sensitive inner thigh and the warm energy of a healing spell began to stitch the skin back together.

He didn’t know why his throat suddenly felt so dry, but he had to swallow before he could bring himself to speak, finding his voice uneven as he did “You are gravely wounded as well, Commander.”

Amralime looked up from his work to catch his rogue’s eyes and, maybe it was mad of him to think so and he had lost more blood than previously thought but, Nathaniel found himself thinking - he had never seen a man so tarnished by the heat of battle look so utterly… Lovely. The elf’s hair was loose, unplanned strands falling around his face, the shimmering white of it was even brighter in the contrast of his dark ash skin. There was dirt on the bridge of his nose and above his brow and a few cuts and scrapes littered every part of his delicate face. A rather large bruise was starting to form on the left side of his jaw and the skin had split on the right of his bottom lip. He was covered head to toe in blood - both his and his foes - and behind the coppery scent was the sweat that brought a small sheen to his complexion. His bright large eyes fluttered with what looked like surprise and Nathaniel had never really noticed how long his lashes were until now.

And then he smiled.

It was small, tired, but so very warm and sweet. His eyes had softened around the edges and looked even more dazzling with amusement and affection there to fill them “You’re wounds come first, Nathaniel.”

And some part of him was absolutely embarrassed that he wanted to hear his name on those lips again.

His own parted, as if to speak the thought, but it - thankfully - did not come out. Instead he focused on the sudden fullness in his chest, it was a pressure and it was expanding against the confines of his ribcage. His brows furrowed and he expected like he looked like he was about to argue the situation, which seemed to only cause the mages smile to grow ever so slightly, glinting the hint of teeth behind it. The motion was quickly followed with a wince, however, as it tugged on the split of his lip.

Before Nathaniel registered what was happening, he caught the sight of his own hand reaching out to hold the edge of the elf's face, thumb brushing just beneath the little wound. Immediately, his eyes tore away from the action to glance up to at his Commander, a trickle of anxiety running up his spine. Amralime looked about just as surprised as he silently felt, but didn't make any motion to pull away. The rogue wasn't quite sure what to do with this, a negative reaction would have been _much_ easier to comprehend, he thinks. He was just about to pull his hand away and apologize when a very different tingle ran down his back. It settled in an area just above where that small gentle hand was - where it was _stroking_ along the freshly healed skin of his inner thigh. The sensation visibly hitched his breath and suddenly his Commanders eyes fluttered with a very different emotion. [Now his expression seemed much more... Interested, and Nathaniel could do nothing in response as his mind drew completely blank-](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-Ga49lKpME6RzxWhKOvj7vvJWI3l_iyu/view?usp=sharing)

There was a clatter.

Both men nearly jamp out of their skin and turned to the sound just as Anders let out a very displeased groan, shoving the still unconscious dwarf off of him completely. "Ugh. What _hit_ me?"

The Commander openly clutched his chest and let out a heavy gush of air " _Anders!_ "

"What?" The apostate blinked dazily at the two of them, squinting as if he couldn't focus. "Could you... _Please_ stop moving, I'm already dizzy enough as it is."

Nathaniel blinked as a sudden weight thumped against his chest, he looked down to find the elf had dropped his head onto him. The Commander was chuckling, which didn't leave him with much of an explanation on why his stomach was suddenly so tied up in knots. Huffing in slight annoyance, Nate did his best to push the jittery feeling away and reached a hand out for the supply pack on the ground. He pulled another two injury kits from it and tossed them off to Anders "Take care of yourself, as well as that dwarf while we have a moment."

Anders simply grunted in response and got to work rummaging through the supplies, which probably spoke volumes about his wounds, but Nathaniel wasn't really in the headspace to care. Instead, he went about getting the wraps that would be going onto his leg. When Amralime finally took notice of this he began to protest, but the rogue took advantage of the ~~_strange_~~ newly found familiarity between them and pushed the elf's jaw closed with an audible click.

For a moment, Am looked so entirely stunned that Nathaniel couldn't entirely suppress his smile, shaking his head as he did so. "I can wrap my own wounds just fine, you need to work on healing yours or we will not have a Commander to follow."

It only took Amralime a second to think over the logic before nodding to show he agreed. "Alright, yes. I'll stop dying now, I suppose."

With that little bit of snark left for Nathaniel to be amused over, the battlemage turned his magic onto himself, steadily stitching the flesh back together with a calmness that showed the practice of a thousandth time doing so - and somehow that thought didn't quite sit right in Nathaniel's stomach anymore either - Once finished with his own wraps and noting that Amralime had moved from his finished arm to his injured side, Nate took the opportunity for what it was and pulled out the rest of their bandages. He imagined that his own hands were not as gentle or as soft as Amral's own but, by the look of wonderment and delight in the little elf's eyes once he began dressing his wounds, the gesture itself was what was more appreciated. Nathaniel himself did his best not to get overly distracted from his work by the small smile touching those smooth lips or that slightly darkened shade on those high cheekbones.

It was a near thing.


	2. Your chapters end so well.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may feel a bit choppy in some places, the original draft had quite a few minor gaps, but w/e.

It started there, he suspects.

 

This infatuation he'd found himself with for the Warden-Commander.

 

Before that day, Nathaniel's feelings had been no more than a grudging admiration for the elf, as Amralime continued to live up to those old legends of his order at every turn. He had looked _so hard_ for his father's murderer, looked and searched  and scoured for someone who was vicious and arrogant, heartless and self-serving. He looked for a monster. Yet, it turned out that viciousness was only severity and arrogance was instead a righteous assurance. Heartlessness was disproved to be reason and logic and any behaviour that could be taken as selfishness was simply Amral attempting to better himself so he could more effectively serve others.

He cared so deeply for his men that he became a terror when they were brought to grievance or harm, he thought very little of his own coin and willingly gave it to those who asked. Hell, he ran around Amaranthine completing tasks for a bunch of drunkards who thought themselves sly, just to bring a bit of fun back into the city (and it seemed that quite a few people rather enjoyed hearing about the revered mothers... Situation). When Nathaniel looked ahead to the Commander leading them through the bloodshed, he saw no monsters - only a delicate young elf with a mischievous grin and a welcoming hand.

Of course, not everything that the warmage did was completely innocent or morally correct, but the choices he made always led to something that benefited others as a whole. Like that time he helped those smugglers gain better access to the city, unfortunately killing the lieutenant but subsequently gaining them an amazing archer that more than once saved their lives in the attack on Vigil's Keep.

Nathaniel still recalls how the Commander had looked after they'd encountered that shady character at the road up to the city. Amralime stood on that road for a long time, staring at the gates, at a man just within them and then looking back to the path the other man had gone. There was a weight to his gaze that hinted at this being more than just a simple decision, that there was repercussions. Eventually, he turned to face the rest of them. There was a smile on his face, but it was not the kind most enjoyed to see, there was no cheer in it. If anything, it was tinged with a hint of guilt.

“Sorry.” was all that he had said, and then he was walking away from the gate and down the path after that man.

It was only when the smuggler's leader asked for that last favour that Nathaniel understood what that apology was for. It made the rogue wonder if a gift like premonition was more of a blessing or a curse - to know that a life would be lost no matter your choice, yet having to choose who would be allowed to survive - having to weigh the worth of one man's life over another.

Had Amralime always known he would need to pick the City or the Keep? How long had that decision weighed on his mind...

 

_'I am here for you.'_

 

It merely slipped out, the first time he had said it, when that look once again crossed Amral's face - saying his decision could lead them down a darker path.

A path the Commander feared they may hate him for, Nathaniel had come to realize – how desperately the little mage did not want to let any of them down. The rogue had walked up beside the him, meant to only place his hand on the elf's shoulder in support. He hadn't expected to speak. When Amralime turned to look at him, however, he found himself glad for his loose tongue.

He'd managed to startle the Commander, which would have been amusing had the surprise so evident in those eyes not made their leader's isolation so obvious to him. People often forget how alone it is when you are at the top, when your decisions saved or damned you in the eyes of all others. The reminder twisted something harshly in his chest. To know that this silly little elf, who was so loved by his men, believed that he had still not won over their loyalties entirely. He was surprised himself at how upset the thought made him, that Amral still feared that they would leave him. That _he_ would ever let Amralime fight alone.

A memory flashed in Nate's mind, of an elderly woman in enchanter's robes.

 

* * *

 

 

She had looked calm and kindly while she stood alone in the Chantry's courtyard, Amral's back had gone bored straight when he had caught sight of her.

His eyes had grown wide with surprise and he stumbled on his way down the steps with a start, as though he had been unaware that he'd turned from his path and toward her. She noticed the commotion and looked towards them and surprise shone on her features as well. At first, Nathaniel had thought the image reminiscent of a young boy excited to reunite with his grandmother after far too much time apart. The woman had motioned forward instinctively as if to catch him, even as Amral got his feet back beneath him and took a few more steps forward to meet her.

However, his steps quickly faltered and her hands quickly reseeded back to her sides and their faces lost any surprise or long lost joy. It was as if they had both suddenly remembered they didn't work that way together.

Not anymore.

Then her face changed, as though she had remembered something foul and her whole body closed off to the younger man. Amral's smile was sudden, like a flinch, bittersweet and tinged with melancholy and Nathaniel was quick to bristle at the woman for putting such an expression there.

Wynne was her name, she had travelled with the Commander during the Blight. She was unpleasant, even rude to him as they spoke. Amralime ignored it, talked with her as though nothing was really wrong and let her take control of the conversation. It was like how Nathaniel used to speak around his parents or grandmother, and if anything rose his temper, it was that. After Am promised to look for Wynne's associate, she was quick to leave the area – as though she couldn't bare to be in his presence a moment longer.

Anders had seemed quite surprised by her behavior, seeming to remember Wynne from his Circle days and he asked Amralime what had possibly done to get on _her_ bad side. The smile he flashed all of them when he turned was strained and did not meet his eyes as he spoke, voice quiet “I made a decision... And she didn't approve.”

Oghren had gone on to complain about how she'd acted, as she and Amral had apparently been rather close before the 'frostback fiasco' as it was labelled. Though, he wouldn't speak more on it than that, said it was not his place.

 

* * *

 

 

He recalled being angry then, thinking she a fool when Nathaniel has so far seen the Commander have nothing but good judgment. He recalled Amral's face after that day, how his smiles diminished and his confidence stuttered when a new decision had to be made. How he would glance at them – at _him_ – as though he were expecting an attack. Expecting them all to turn coat whenever his choices weren't completely moral.

And now here he was again, with another hard choice to make. Nathaniel looked down at Amralime then, at his wide eyes and his shaken demeanour and his hand squeezed more tightly on the little mages shoulder.

“Whatever the choice is.” His eyes never wavered from Amral's own, he smiled and he hoped it was kind “I am here for you.”

Those few simple words seemed to hit him at his core. Am's breath hitched and his body physically rocked in Nathaniel's grasp and those beautiful bright eyes looked utterly vulnerable as they stared up at him in minor disbelief, and it seemed to finally hit him what was actually being talked about. Nate was positive that it was that watery smile that graced his little leaders lips that really did him in, tipped him off that edge, and it was Amral's relaxing body leaning into his side that gave the final push. “Thank you.”

His confidence didn't waver so much after that.

Nathaniel was under the belief that Am had given away all his unsteady footing to him, because the ground never quite felt truly steady after that. At least not to him. Yet, somehow, he couldn't find it in him to care really. Not when Amralime's eyes brightened so beautifully whenever he noticed his archer was near. Not when that smile was directed at him, like he was the elf's light and comfort. In fact, he rather enjoyed the weakness in his knees when the Commander touched his hand or leaned on his shoulder. It steadily became one of his most favourite sensations.

 

 

Like the flicker of the flames in the breeze, he watched as Amral's eyes eventually flitted his way, as they quite frequently did when the elf was in thought. Nathaniel had never understood it, but his Commander seemed to find some sort of solace it watching him while his mind drifted off. It unsteadied his heartbeat and rosined his cheeks, though he would never admit to it in open company. Am's eyes seemed to clear once he realized that Nathaniel had been watching him back. The heavy air around him swiftly dissipated, the tension in his body quickly melting away. He savoured the warmth that filled Amralime's eyes, let it heat his soul. The Commander smiled at him, small and sweet, affection seeping from his every pore as he tipped slowly to the side to lean against the tree stood beside him. With a twitch of his hand, he beckoned the archer over and Nathaniel was quick to obey. “So observant, lethallan.”

“You are a joy to observe.” He casually replied, settling himself before the shorter man, barely a step between them.

Amralime simply chuckled, a soft and mirthful sound that set Nathaniel's heart astuter, and gazed up at him. The soft strands of his hair brushed by his cheeks at the motion and it would be a lie to say he didn't enjoy the view of it. He reached forward, curled his fingers around the small hand that had brought him here and lifted it up to press a chaste kiss to those smooth knuckles. He received a hum of approval for his efforts. “Something troubles your thoughts.”

The steady warmth that had been building up in Amral's face dampened quickly. Sadness, an emotion that had been keeping hidden until this point, made itself known and Nathaniel wished he could wipe it away as easily as a tear. The Commander looked down, his frown slight, but no less weighty “I do not look forward to the future.”

“What is it you see?” He questioned, watching as the Commander's eyes left is own to instead study their interlocked hands.

“Liars, tricks, lost friends, so much darkness.” He started, and Nathaniel could tell it was a subconscious gesture when Am pulled his hand closer. “Eventually my sight ends, leaving nothing but a green light.”

"Green light?"

"Yes." He confirmed absently, running his thumb over rough knuckles "It's all consuming, I can't see past it - though I can _feel_..."

Amral didn't continue, his eyes looking far off, and Nathaniel knew he was searching for what was to come. "Tell me what you feel." He urged, softly.

“... Promise me something.” Amral says suddenly, pulling the larger hand forward, cradling it to his chest.

“Anything.” Nathaniel replies, and he means it. He moves closer to the smaller man, tightening his grip as he says it again "Anything."

The Commander looks up to him. In his eyes, Nate finds something that he's sure he's never seen before, something he wishes to never see there again. A plea. Sincere and begging in those bright eyes that belong to a man who has always been too strong for such an option. It truly showed to him, _more_ than anything, how serious of a request this was going to be.

“If the day soon comes that... That you feel the Call ringing in your ears, I need you to do this for me.” His brow wrinkles and he glances down for a moment, pressing Nathaniel's knuckles to his lips before he continues “Call it a request – an order if you wish – anything to do what I ask of you now. There will be days that I will not be here with you, I will need to travel and I may take years to return. If, while we are apart, the Call comes to you. If forces gather in a cause to combat it.” The line of his mouth is severe, the plea never so present as it is now “No matter how compelled you feel to join in that fight, I must ask you to run.”

Nathaniel's brows raised and surprise was evident in his voice “You want me to run?”

Amral gives him a firm nod “Yes. No matter what orders you receive, no matter who you have to leave behind. I want you to take only those you trust above all else and get as far away from central Thedas as you can.” He smiles then, his brow still worried, and Nathaniel is reminded of all the times as a child that an adult tried to convince him that everything would be alright “Aim for the Anderfels, then keep going north. Once things settle, I will come find you.”

It was his turn to frown now, and he was sure he must look pained, but he could not leave this truth unsaid. No matter how much his Amralime wished to leave it so.

 

“If you survive.”

 

It was not a question.

 

“... If I survive.”


End file.
